


Birds of a Feather

by Scribblindown



Series: Unkindness [2]
Category: DC Extended Universe, DCU, Teen Titans (Animated Series), Teen Titans - All Media Types, 僕のヒーローアカデミア | Boku no Hero Academia | My Hero Academia
Genre: Action/Adventure, Aizawa Shouta | Eraserhead is a Good Teacher, Canon-Typical Violence, Crossover, F/M, this is just an excuse for me to put robin in fight scenes with quirk users
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-25
Updated: 2020-12-25
Packaged: 2021-03-10 21:01:28
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,784
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28313487
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Scribblindown/pseuds/Scribblindown
Summary: Robin finds himself outside of Jump City and thrust into the fray of a Quirk-filled society.
Relationships: Dick Grayson & Koriand'r & Garfield Logan & Raven & Victor Stone, Dick Grayson/Koriand'r, Robin (DCU) & Aizawa Shouta | Eraserhead
Series: Unkindness [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2073612
Comments: 10
Kudos: 68





	Birds of a Feather

**Author's Note:**

> \- There’s honestly so many adaptations of Dick Grayson/Robin/Nightwing I’m losing track of what his personality is supposed to be. That being said! He might be OOC because I’m implementing his more sarcastic/casual personalities that TT doesn’t necessarily have.  
> \- Goes by the headcanon that MHA Heroes can not kill. (Obviously doesn’t count Robin)  
> \- Not in the same timeline or canon as my Raven fic. Can be read alone.  
> \- All Japanese is in italics to show that Robin doesn’t understand it.  
> \- Slightly unedited.

_Robin’s boots silently slam down on the hard roof. He feels his body weight ripple across his body as he lands, but he grits his teeth and continues running. He doesn’t look back, but the pressure of the glare of the older man raises the hair on his neck._

_The morning dew of twilight sends pinpricks in his lungs with every hard breath he takes, growing more labored with every building he leaps over. The morning sun streams across his body in bright yellow light that shines against the purple sky._

He doesn’t know how he got here. 

_._ _._ _._

Robin wakes up in a cold, dark room. 

_He found himself in an overpopulated prison. They left him on the cracked, dusty floor face-down as other prisoners from the other cells spoke like needles in his ear. Metal creaked as they beat against the bars on their cell, heckling the prison security as they walked by making their rounds._

He raises his head and blinks blearily, rising from his spot. 

It is almost ridiculously easy breaking out. 

Instead of rusty metal bars standing in front of him, a wall made of pure metal stands between him and the rest of the prison. A small window nearly a head higher than him is the only peek he had at the outside. 

They’re trying to implement a curfew on him, he thinks, so it’s night out by now. There’s no clock in his cell, but there’s no more people walking around the prison than necessary. The lights are off in the room, but he carefully watches the light stream from underneath the heavy metal doors on both the left and right side of the scratched wall. Every fifteen minutes the stream of light is broken by two careful footsteps. They’re lumbering and heavy, but cautious. The security guards’ rounds, he concludes. 

They left him with his super suit on, almost like they were laying hints and teasing him with help, and he does the rest. Robin can tell he’s still wearing his mask and his costume, but he’s been stripped of his gear and gloves. There are bandages on his cheek and around his neck that are hastily done, so they’re temporary. He’s in the processing section and awaiting bail, he summarizes. They haven’t done any of the official paperwork yet. No mugshots, no screening, interrogation. From his clothes, the guards and warden were probably scrapped on time and threw him in here before he could kick and scream. 

He waits for a bit more, and wonders if this was a distant timeline. He can tell that the other prisoners are speaking Japanese, and he’s yet to learn any useful word other than curses and commands from his one stint in Tokyo. 

Robin doesn’t like purposefully dislocating his shoulder and wrists, but he does so anyway, easing his bones out of their sockets so he can slip free from the chains they wound around him. A gasp of air gets lodged in his throat as the pain courses through his body, hitching uncomfortable at the base of his neck. He’s lucky that he’s still so young — despite his rigorous training his body still fails to build up any proper muscle mass. Normally something like this would irritate him, the fact that he still stands so lithe like a fairy especially compared to Cyborg or Starfire, but today it gives him a boost as he slips past their chains and straps as if they were a snake’s skin. His suit is lined with steel fibers, and he pulls a thread free as he rubs it across the leather bounds until they snap like rubber bands. They fall to a useless pile on the ground and his head turns from side to side, surveying the room. The seconds tick away in the metaphorical clock and he takes the binds into his arms and waits. 

Dawn arrives like a sleeper agent. A security guard comes for roll call and Batman’s apprentice doesn’t even blink as he takes down the man in a flash. The man doesn’t even manage to let a word out before Robin pins him to the floor, drags him into the cell, and steals his uniform. Dick rips off his mask and bandages, shoving them into his new pocket as he makes his way outside the cell. The sudden brightness of the yellowed lights above make his eyes narrow in irritation, but the tightness of his lips do very little to indicate his annoyance. 

Careful hands calmly slip on the man’s surgeon mask around his ears as he walks down the hallway. He assumes that it’s low-security, high-capacity. The cells are nearly all filled up, and from their high energy, Robin knows it’s because they’re meant for holding villains for a temporary amount of time right after their capture. 

_A metahuman prison?_ he asks himself. 

Robin feels himself raise an eyebrow at varying sizes of the doors and the heaviness of the punches delivered on the steel walls. He’s seen plenty of these in his timeline and visited more than he can count while delivering villains like mail during his time with the Titans. For a brief second, he wonders if his teammates are searching for him now. No doubt they hold rebellious streaks even against someone they respect like him, breaking his rules to hunt him down. Starfire certainly doesn’t heed his words if his life is on the line, but if this was anything like last time, hopefully Cyborg, Raven, and Beast Boy will at least do what he says and scatter to save themselves. 

He wonders how he made it here, yet he doesn’t have the luxury of sitting still to ponder. 

The superhero digs into his brain for memories of how he landed himself in jail but comes up with blanks. Nothing hints at his capture except for the ache in his back and neck as he turns, and he doesn’t know how he managed to find himself in Japan again when he was in Jump City just yesterday. He needs to find a calendar and fast, he thinks. 

He wonders if Slade is playing tricks in his head again. Maybe this is all a bad dream. 

The cells become sparser as he walks, winding himself closer and closer to freedom before someone checks their video cameras and finds that Robin is half a foot shorter and has hair a whole five shades darker than the security guard he managed to take down. Fabric bunches at his ankles and his belt rests loosely on his hips. Turning the corner, a smile nearly reaches his lips as he finds the room holding the prisoner’s personal belongings. Nodding to the guard walking out as he walks in, he thanks his luck that the lights that hang overhead cast such heavy shadows over his eyes, hiding his features from the rest of the guards. 

He was home free, he thinks as he manages to find his gear in a drawer labeled Prisoner 394A. They placed his belongings in wrinkled bags with sharpie labeling the odd items they found. This Titan Communicator is, thankfully, untouched and untampered with. The screen still lights up, but strangely fails to ring with rampant calls from his teammates. 

And he’s out of there. 

_Almost._

_“Ah!”_ one of the men outside of the room says, clambering out of his seat to stand up. _“Eraserhead! Turning in for the night?”_ Robin feels himself stiffen and pushes himself to work faster. 

Their Japanese doesn’t fall deaf to Robin’s ears as he straps his green gloves with his head in his own little word. He places the guard’s belt under his own and pats down all of his gear as a checklist goes through his mind. 

Outside the room, the underground hero merely grunts in reply. Heavy bags weigh down underneath his red-rimmed eyes, undoubtedly too worn after he just finished another night of taking down villains. If Aizawa was lucky, he has about three hours before he makes his way to his homeroom class at U.A. and hopefully he can catch a couple of hours of snooze time before Heroics. 

_Robin was in the clear._

Aizawa is half-listening to the words that fall out of the chatty guard’s mouth when a moving shadow behind the door catches the corner of his eye. 

The flash was blind to everyone else, but Aizawa Shouta was not anyone else. 

Like a cat immediately on the hunt, Aizawa doesn’t hesitate to narrow his eyes. 

_“Eraserhead?”_ the guard asks when the Pro-Hero clearly doesn’t follow along with his conversation about his cat, a topic that would normally keep his attention for about five minutes longer. 

Aizawa’s head turns to the door across from them. His steps immediately fall into silent pads. 

In reply he places a finger to his lips, silencing the other man as he tiptoes to the door, flattening himself against the wall. 

Eraserhead is familiar with this prison. He’s responsible for about 1/10th of the villains here after putting so many criminals behind bars. He knows it like the back of his hand and the guards all know him like he’s a neighbor rather than a Hero doing his job. As a result of how often he comes here, he knows the schedule of nearly every guard too. 

If he was any Hero worth his salt, he knows that no new prisoners have been admitted in the last hour, and no other office has any business rifling through their personal belongings at the crackass of dawn. 

The capture tape falls limp between his fingers, unraveling like loose threads, readying his goggles before he strikes. 

He knows that there’s someone behind the door. _He can feel it._

The door slams open, scattering the dust along the walls and creaks at the joints of the door. Echoes of wood against plaster rings in his ear. Silence rings in his eardrum. 

_“There’s no one in here,”_ the guard states, eyes sweeping across the room. 

It’s completely empty. 

But that wasn’t it. 

Aizawa is as cautious as a man entering a minefield. His footfalls are almost completely silent to the human ear. There’s nothing off about the room. No extra sounds, no open drawers, and no slip of paper is misplaced. 

Black eyes turn from left to right, searching for a clue, surveying the scene, but finds none. 

His intuition is never wrong. 

A sound, barely present, rings in Aizawa’s ear. He looks up. 

Then the vents creak and Aizawa finds himself staring into another pair of blue eyes. Heart nearly jumping at the sight, Robin’s eyes widen. 

Panic strikes Aizawa’s body like lightning. 

“Shit,” the villain curses in English before flipping the vent closed, closing the screen between them. A cacophony of creaks and shakes decorate the melody of the jail as the villain climbs his way up the building. 

“ _Stop!_ ” Aizawa shouts, leaving the guard behind, leaping into a sprint across the prison. 

Immediately, the sleepy jail was thrust into high-energy. Alarms start to blare around the building, burning the cement walls with bright red light and shrieking rings. He takes off past several wings and up the stairs to the roof. 

Robin bursts past the vent at the top of the building, his shoulders covered in a light snowfall of dust and spider webs. Shoulders aching from the difficult climb upward, he cranks his arm before pulling himself out of the vents. With merely one leg out, his head snaps toward a banging sound. 

The door to the left of him slams open like thunder as a flood of security guards enter into the scene. 

The icy cold of the morning is different from the cool of the prison cell. He feels the wind lick up the bare space on his face and neck as they all stay at a standstill. 

_“Stand down, criminal,”_ one of the guards says. _“Not only did you break out of prison, but you're currently resisting capture. If you continue to be difficult and escape, you're going to be locked away for a long time.”_

 _I don’t know a single word he’s saying_ , Robin thinks. 

He holds back his curses as they charge forward. Pure instinct sends him flipping backward near the end of the roof. They surround him on every side, circling like bees. His left foot slides backward, the sound of rubber rubbing against cement, and that triggers the response. 

There are twenty of them and only one of him. 

Every guard leaps at him. Robin flicks open the extendable baton he stole from the guard earlier and spins it between his fingers, barreling past several metahumans on his way to freedom. Different powers fire off around him, but he knocks them aside or ducks between their coworkers, using them as shields and tossing them aside. They get knocked down like toy soldiers, one after another with a swing of his baton. 

One of the guards extends their bear-like hand, snapping his baton cleanly like a toothpick. Robin throws the remains like spears, using the distraction as they sink into the ground like clay to administer flying kicks across their defenses. Hands wrap around his body from all sides, clawing their way around him, suffocating the airflow to his brain. A guard manages to grab Robin’s shoulder and he twists. 

His body burns within from the exertion of the fight versus the deathly cool of the air. Every sweat down his brow feels like ice. 

A knee to the chest, the loss of air. Robin hears a crack resonate in his ear like a gunshot.

 _Exhale._ Those were his ribs. 

A flash grenade slips from his utility belt and the burn hurts worse when he clenches his eyes shut. It scatters the group as a shower of bright light blinds them all. Breaking free from their hold, one hand still remains firmly grasped on the blue button-up. The fabric slips away from his body, completely stripping away the guard uniform shirt, dodging an incoming punch from another man. He spins around, wrapping the shirt around the man’s extended fist and twirls it up and over his shoulder. Throwing the guard into a wall of his coworkers like he was bowling through him, Robin’s feet dig into the rough cement of the roof, blue eyes watching the lightened group. 

Slipping his uniform belt off of its loops, Robin whips it at the group, deaf to their cries as it stings red across their skin. Wrapping the belt around the mouth of one of the guards like a gag, he tightens it and one firm foot on the back kicks him across the roof, crash landing into a wall of guards. Men and women scatter around him in various states of consciousness, but among the surrounding army, he sees a crack in their defense. In this pandamonium, Robin barely hears the door open. 

He nearly breaks through their closing wall, but his muscles seize suddenly at the sound of a bullet going off. The sound nearly causes him to flinch, and the bullet barely misses his head, popping his eardrum as it flies past. 

Heart beating fast enough to feel against his ribcage, Robin heaves through the crowd. Wide eyes take in the sight of (a homeless man? Robin thinks). 

_“Don’t shoot!_ ” Eraserhead shouts. His capture material is wrapped around the guard’s shaking hand. _“He moves too fast! You’re going to kill him or hit the other guards!”_

Feet and hands fly across the space, bowling over the group. Robin flips at lightning speed, ducking and dodging while he swings from walking on his hands to flying from the tips of his feet. 

One eye falls closed. Robin reaches out with a grappling hook in his hands and with a pull of the trigger, he is soaring.

* * *

He breathes out of his mouth. 

Near-silent footfalls follow him like a ghost. The black-clad man is the only one that managed to trail him this far, falling along behind him as Robin races from building to building as the sky steadily turns purple. He needs to make a getaway soon because as soon as the sun rises daybreak would be a lot harder to cleanly make his escape. 

The man runs like a ninja, easily following Robin as he runs across clotheslines, ducking and jumping every step of the way. If Robin wasn’t an acrobat, he doubted that he would’ve been able to complete half of the feats the man just displayed tonight. 

Yet he was, and that’s how he manages to get the edge on him. 

Robin jumps and rolls onto a weathering building. The building is nearly leaning on its last brick. The paint is faded and chipping from the harsh elements and the windows are all boarded up. He nearly gives away once more, his muscles flexed as he prepares to leap onto the next building when the ground underneath him gives away, nearly sinking him in. His reaction time is instantaneous. Merely a breath hitching in his throat gave him away, but as he rolls and leaps away from the hazard, the man catches up. 

Robin’s arm is completely encased in a durable grey fabric. 

The man pulls him forward like a fish on a line. Dragging him forward, the rest of his body snaps together as the fabric wounds around him. 

_Fuck!_ He winces the moment his face slams on the crumbling ground. 

_“Give up, villain,”_ Aizawa says. _“As a Hero, I have an obligation to tell you that if you continue to resist arrest I have to fight back. Your punishment will be much more severe.”_

“Speak English?” is all he manages to grunt out instead, taking a mouthful of dirt. The man steps closer to get a better look at his face. 

The bonds miraculously loosen. 

_“A kid?”_ the man whispers to himself, taken back. 

Aizawa takes the answer in the form of a punch. Robin leaps into action, kicking the man away. The capture tape winds around them in majestic loops over the air. Robin purposefully wounds some around his wrist before he yanks, pulling the man along with him. Aizawa wheezes the moment the capture tape around his neck becomes taught, momentarily cutting off his air. Robin throws him across the space and into an aircon. Dust flies up like a cloud. 

But while the kid is good, making Aizawa go around in circles, jumping around his own capture tape like a ballerina, Aizawa spent fifteen years perfecting his ability and lived for twice as long. 

Robin makes heads or tales of the ribbon, but Aizawa can clearly see the moments where he falters. 

Aizawa grabs a strand of his own tape, running it along his shoulder as a pulley. It moves so fast that it burns the strip of exposed skin that Robin used as leverage. The teen hisses with pain, and in the moment lost, Aizawa delivers a kick that pulls the ground right from under Robin. It sends him rolling to the edge of the roof. 

They are eight stories up. 

“Gah!” His bones crunch on impact, sucking all the air out of his lungs. The fabric snares him once more. Gravel and dust tip off the edge of the crumbling roof, dropping to the emptying streets down below. His black hair hangs like a waterfall over his head. 

Blue eyes turn back and forth, surveying the man in front of him then to any possible escape route. In return, the wraps tighten and Robin can’t help but let out a pitiful whine the moment his ribs constrict inside his own body. His hands are flat against his body, mummified in the wraps until he couldn’t even feel the outline of his utility belt anymore. 

Almost like the man is struck, the scarf becomes slack immediately. Robin snaps his head up. 

People often say that as the serious and moody leader of the Titans, someone who had their childhood ripped out from underneath them, Robin is lacking in social situations. 

It was true that he often can’t make heads or tails of the lingo that Cyborg and Beast Boy sometimes parroted at him, and he wasn’t ever able to confess his feelings to Starfire until half a year ago, but he deserves more credit than people believed. 

He understands people. 

Robin notices when Bruce is upset, taking in the subtle knit of his eyebrow, focusing on the tightness in his jaw. He knows when to leave Alfred alone after a long day. 

He can tell when something is bothering his teammates, and he pours over FBI body-language texts to get a read on villains. 

Furrowed brows, a frown screwing the man’s lip. Even though his eyes are split by yellow cells, Robin can see the look the man is giving him. 

_Aizawa always had a soft spot for kids._

Robin forces his lower lip to tremble, blinking his eyes until he manages to get them to water. 

“A-Are you going to hurt me?” Robin always hated how young he sounded, never letting the cops or other adults take him and his teammates seriously, but now he revels in it. He hitches it up for a change, making him sound younger than he was. “I-I — “ His shoulders tremble. 

_Pity me. Pity me. Buy my act._

Aizawa’s shoulder slumps as a result, ever so slightly, yet he stays firm. Aizawa watches Robin carefully. 

“No,” the man gruffly says, staying as that impassive wall. The man’s voice is monotone, completely flat. His English is near fluent, but carries a slight accent and lowers his voice into a deeper, rolling drawl that reminds him of his half-demon teammate. 

He slips a phone out of his pocket. Panic seizes Robin. If others get involved how is able to easily slip now? “You’re just going to get handed to the authorities and they’re going to take you to the hospital — “ 

“No!” Robin pleads. “No...please…” Blue eyes shine with tears, illuminated by the rising sun. “I was just being stupid — I-I thought that if I left home…” He screws his eyes shut, forcing the minuscule amount of tears he conjured up to fall down his face in two hot paths on his cheeks. 

Normally, Robin would barrel through his issues with aggression and astuteness, pulling anyone into his path and tossing them aside after he got what he wanted, but his mind was covered in a fog. His ribs ached and after running across the city, his legs finally began to burn with the exertion. He had no idea where he was, how he got to Japan, where the Titans were. If they were okay. 

A sob escapes his lips and he wonders for a second whether or not it was part of the act. 

“How old are you, kid?” Aizawa asks next. Dark eyes survey the figure. Despite the top half of his face being covered by a mask that hides his eyes completely, the brief flash that Aizawa saw of it earlier told him that the kid had blue eyes and dark brows. His face, however, gave most of it away. The boy’s face wasn’t round but was still covered with baby fat that hid all the sharp planes of his cheeks. His teeth were perfectly white and straight, leading the teacher to believe that the kid at least had a good diet or had a place that cared about him enough for him to be hygienic. 

“Eighteen,” Robin answers. 

The ropes tighten right over his broken ribs and Robin hisses at the impact. 

“Try again.” 

Robin’s chest rises and falls heavily with every breath. The thrill of the chase finally petered off and all he was left with was the exhaustion from the hunt. 

“S-Sixteen.” 

Aizawa’s eyebrows relax. 

“Are your ribs causing you a lot of pain?” he finally asks. 

Robin forces himself to sob instead of answering, flinching largely when Aizawa comes close. He stills his forced shaky breaths to a stop when the rugged man crouches beside him. 

And even though his meek act is all pretend, his heart thunders in his chest anyway. Pulling himself into a tight fetal position, he can feel the adult’s stare on him, and he’s begging — just begging quietly that he will take the bait. 

Aizawa takes a knee beside him. 

His heart pulses so loudly that he can feel it against his thigh when he pulls his body close. 

“Here — “ Robin flinches away and the man’s soothed expression doesn’t change. Aizawa moves closer, moving as slow as a flower petal falling off a tree. One hand is outstretched. Closer. “You’ll agitate your wounds. I just — “ 

_BAM!_

Robin’s forehead sharply meets with Aizawa’s. The two clash together, rattling his brain like a child’s toy before he forces himself up on his two feet. Gritting his teeth, green boots slide across the rickety roof. The man stumbles backward, one hand to his forehead while his yellow goggles are skewed across his face. 

A stream of grey fabric is released into the air and the wind whistles in Robin’s ear. Aizawa scowls and _pulls_ — only to be head right into a full stop the moment green-gloved fingers flash into existence. The birdarang slips from his fingers and the older man immediately ducks and dodges. The weapon hits the capture tape head-on, pinning it to the AC that decorated the top of the roof. 

Robin’s eyes slip from the weapon to the man — his spot is missing. Chest seizing, he straightens his form the moment two hands hand on his shoulders, pulling him into a grapple. Breath hitched in his throat, he awaits whatever power the man might have. 

He awaits the upcoming attack by stiffening his body. 

Aizawa turns the teenager in his hands around — holding him close and black hair flutters in the wind. 

Red eyes flash in the darkness of dawn and Robin flinches. 

Then nothing happens. 

Nothing at all. 

No pain, no harm. 

His head meets Aizawa’s chin for the second time that night and they stumble back again. The two forcefully separate. 

Thundering feet come upon the scene and by the time Robin’s head stops shaking like an earthquake. He’s surrounded. 

Three policemen circle him, guns pointed while the man in the middle stands impassively, rubbing his sore jaw. 

“ _Freeze!_ ” they say and Robin stands tall. Behind him is the awakening street several stories below. 

The wind pulls on his black hair as his face is schooled into an empty expression. 

“C’mon, kid,” Aizawa says. “Give it up.” Nothing but irritation is across his face, his former softness for the kid in front of him is gone. 

One officer inches closer and Robin seizes up. 

“Stop,” he commands. He slides backward until his soles are a centimeter over the drop. “If you move — I’ll jump.” The officers all freeze. His mind moves at a mile a minute. Behind his mask, his eyes move furiously from one adult to the other, surveying them, watching them like a caged animal. 

Aizawa exhales out of his nose. His expression is hidden by his yellow goggles. “Kid, don’t be like this.” 

Then ever so softly, he slowly inclined one hand out. Exposed and inching, Aizawa makes sure that Robin could see every move. “It’s over. Just come with us.” He's cautious, like every move he makes can detonate a bomb. 

He opens his mouth to say more, but Robin doesn’t hear it. 

Instead, he looks at the glowing sun and the brightening sky. 

He’s out of time. 

As the sun creeps above the horizon, the shadows on his face — the only thing that hid his identity — fade away. 

He has no other choice. It's now or never. 

Without another warning, Robin closes his eyes and lets himself drop over the surface. 

_“Wait!”_ Is the only thing he hears among the roaring wind, the loud whistling in his ear. 

Peeking one eye open, his irises immediately dry out as he falls, and he sees the ragged man desperately leaning over the surface, staring at his falling body with a look of horror streaking across his face. 

Ever so calmly, like he was taking a deep dive in a pool, Robin flips his body midair. A grappling hook appears in his hands. 

Closing one eye, he locks in. Takes his mark. 

And shoots.

* * *

The four adults watch as the boy sails away to safety, swinging from building to building until he disappears past a corner never to be seen again. 

Despite himself, Aizawa finds himself sighing in relief. 

He slams one fist down on the raised roof and snaps his head to the side. 

Adjusting his goggles, he takes off.

**Author's Note:**

> This is part of a challenge that I'm making for myself where I'll write a short for every 100 comments on my original fic Notan. I have some ideas for what to write for the next few milestones, but if you have something you want to see maybe I'll take them into account!  
> In this AU where Robin gets landed in the Quirk universe, he is homeless for a couple of days, but managed to get stopped on the street by a lady who wants him to teach English at a cram school. The school supplies boarding in exchange for very little real salary, but he scrapes by. In the evenings when he doesn't have classes he opens up the window in his room to listen in on the Japanese class that is happening in the floor below and that's how he learns Japanese. Two months pass by and he still "calls" the Titans every day and tells them the report for that day. Even though no one answers, this is a good way to document his experience, he thinks.  
> I'm split between Robin coming across All Might somehow or Aizawa again.  
> In both paths, he takes up vigilantism and some shady jobs to make some extra cash on the side.  
> In Aizawa's path, Robin meets and fights the man again on a job, and while he manages to escape, he leaves his backpack behind because it was in the Pro-Hero's path, and tracks it back to the man's apartment.  
> I was about to write all of this down, but I guess that I held off this fic for long enough haha. Tell me in the comments if you would be interested in seeing more though!


End file.
